If people were puzzles

They’d never fit together
because their curves still don’t fit into your cavities.
Because Passenger still does not sound good
with Seafret in the background.
Because we are hundred times broken than
whole.
Because we are so broken
that even nine pieces of people cannot fit us together.

If people were puzzles
they’d be lost on the peripheries of life.
I think we still are,
tying our heads to the mast of a ship
hoping that maybe a corner would fit the middle;
none of us knows that the sharp edges of the former
are cutting our insides
and here we ask,
why do we feel pain?
It is not the universe
but us slithering cuts.

If people were puzzles
…
I think we already are one,
each day hoping to meet the One
tasting wine on cherry stained lips,
wondering if that is what perfection looks like
to realise how and why
our kisses don’t fit either.

I think we are puzzles
and we cannot be anything less or more.
Because we anyway don’t fit each other.
Because we are nine times broken
and two times whole.
Because we lose momentum when Seafret plays in the background
and nothing fits its tune.
Not even you.